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<title>DEADLINE #3 (GWEN STACY #12) - 2001 by SKULLEDITOR</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245713">DEADLINE #3 (GWEN STACY #12) - 2001</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKULLEDITOR/pseuds/SKULLEDITOR'>SKULLEDITOR</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Gwen (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKULLEDITOR/pseuds/SKULLEDITOR</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>GWEN STACY has had a lot of bad ideas in her life. Dating the nerdy kid from photography club. Introducing her dad to that girl in her criminal psychology class. Going to Chicago in August. DOING IT ALL FOR FREE may just be the worst one yet. FIND OUT IN GWEN STACY #13 (Deadline #3)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>DEADLINE #3 (GWEN STACY #12) - 2001</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>THE DEVIL IN HELL'S KITCHEN - I WANT IT</strong>.<br/><br/></p><p>Gwen reflected on the words she said to Robbie on a cold Monday in New York City at 4am.<br/>At the time she felt like her whole career and life was laid out in front of her. Now - that career opportunity (and life) feel like they are rapidly dwindling infront of her.<br/>She'd make a mental note that next time she was running through the streets of the city in the middle of winter, she'd pack better shoes.</p><p>The men* (evil ninjas don't discriminate) following her were wearing black outfits straight out of a movie. Red cloth cut through the darkness of the night. Every peak over her shoulder, that was the only thing<br/>she could really see. Gwen gave up the church right around the time her dad gave up sobriety, but lord, if you do exist, now's the time to prove it.<br/><br/>Why were they following her? Well, when a plucky blonde reporter starts asking questions around a certain Bar-With-No-Name, she should take the neon signs outside literally.<br/>Hell's Kitchen is haunted. Not by a real ghost, mind you, but a man who's got some kind of bone to pick with every gang and crimelord in New York. From the ones that deal crack in alleyways to the<br/>ones that have Swiss bank accounts. Landlords and profiteers in equal measure. It's amazing what a girl can accomplish with a night in the city.</p><p>Gwen wasn't sure "The Hand" really existed before she pissed them off. Every yell for help was met with indifference. Every alleyway she turned down could be the one that had a chain-link fence at the end.<br/>Good thing her dad was a cop with a few bonus points in jumping over fences to harass teenagers. She kept the narrative up in her head that someone was going to find her body.<br/>"24 year old reporter found dead" the papers would say. "Gwen Stacy, Daughter of George Stacy - Career in front of her cut up in New York Alleyway." If she was dead, they'd probably put<br/>some unpaid intern on the editorial.<br/><br/>She hoped Robbie wouldn't be the one to write it.<br/><br/>The Hand stayed in pursuit. They were in the fire escapes and on the rooftops. At the hour and where she was, every door she came to was locked or chained up. Mental note if she made it out of this -<br/>Richards and Banner really had been responsible for destroying neighborhoods here. A smarter reporter would probably be focused on staying alive. Well - she'd learned after a lifetime in New York that all of the<br/>panicked yelling couldn't save her. Another street.</p><p>Oh god. This is the one.<br/><br/>An alleyway with a fence too high, caked in snow. Her boots (they're from Target) give out on top of the snow. The tread worn down from a year of daily walks to and from work. Who can afford an Uber on a Daily Bugle salary anyway?<br/>Gwen hits the snow full force into a slide. There's just enough snow to keep her from grating the tip of her nose against New York sidewalk.</p><p>Gwen's a local. Her dad is a cop. All of those instincts kick in from childhood - of thirteenth birthdays spent at shooting ranges instead of bowling alleys. All the first dates with women (and men) from upstate where <br/>they'd swear up and down they grew up around guns and not understand how a tiny blonde woman could own so many. In her head, of course, this is where she turns around and holds her pistol out up against the night sky. <br/>The plucky reporter making a final stand. At least the paper wouldn't say she was just another pretty girl cut up in an alleyway from some serial with a name like The Scorpion. <br/><br/>"STOP!" Gwen cried. All of the people pursuing her became stationary silhouettes against the night sky. The Hand wore black and red, not for blending in. So the people they followed would never be entirely sure what they saw<br/>out of the corner of their eye before heads got permanently severed from shoulders.<br/>She couldn't even see them breath.<br/><br/>Then there was the laughter. All of the frozen statues start to move at once - a synchronized dance. Here come the knives. The sai, the sickles. A chain around her leg pulls her through the snow with a yelp. A gunshot rings out in the darkness.<br/>Everything stops again. Gwen's not sure, but the chain around her thigh goes limp. Where she saw a figure in the dark a second ago, there's nothing.<br/><br/>Grunts. Screams in the dark. A flash of red against the night sky.<br/>She doesn't believe in god, who says the Devil can't believe in her? And here he was under the moonlight. The Devil in all of his glory. Where firearms and all of that man-made hocus pocus would fail, The Devil came to the rescue. <br/>Gwen had heard the stories of New York in the 90's. Someone who dabbled in Xtreme Sports and Hockey pads busting neighborhood gangs. The Eric Brooks murders, that feature Ned's dad did about the model-turned vigilante suffering <br/>from a case of bipolar personality disorder. This wasn't any of those - it was the real deal. <br/><br/>One by one the still shadows disappeared. Gwen hid behind the safety of her pistol, just like her dad taught her. What the hell was the point of being the Good Cop here in the middle of the night? Gwen scrambled to her feet in some kind of defiance. <br/>In the time it took her to do that, the night was back to its normal stillness. Nothing to chase her, nothing but herself. </p>
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